Broken Heart
by Opheliamlet
Summary: Walked on off to another spot. I still haven't got anywhere that I want. Did I want love? Did I need to know? Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow? [Modest Mouse, The World At Large. Spike x Faye]
1. I

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Cowboy Bebop nor do I own the characters, the show's plot and so forth; rights are owned by Sunrise, Bandai, Cartoon Network and a bunch of other folks I'm not sure of. Lyrics to the song "Broken Heart" is property of the band Spiritualized and used without permission but with the best intentions in mind. Story plot is the only thing that's mine – take that and I'll banish you to a room with a moose for all eternity (do you know how gross moose are?! Do you?!)

The actions and thoughts of one particular character are influenced by the events in previous episodes. Namely "Speak Like a Child" and "Brain Scratch." So that's why it's mildly un-canon.

**Broken Heart**

The atmosphere onboard the Bebop was one of tension and opposition, so viscous that it could be cut with the proverbial and clichéd knife. Jet had long since retreated to the comforts of his bonsai trees, hungrily puffing away on a cigarette to smooth over his grated nerves while Spike took to reclining on the simple couch in the Bebop's equivalent of a living room, staring at the vacant space before him with a steady gaze. Although more than likely to deny any sentiments of the sort, Spike felt Faye's absence as surely as if it were a wound nagging at him that hadn't quite healed over, the lack of her halfhearted musings around an ellipse-shaped cigarette or cringe-worthy tirades about a lack of food, hot water, or her share of a bounty seemed to strike a chord somewhere deep beneath his nonchalant exterior. It also didn't help that just a few days earlier Ed had said her goodbye's to the Bebop, taking Ein with her. He would've thought he'd be used to this kind of disappearing act from women by now. Taking his past experiences into consideration, he should have been used to women running off without any reason—Faye in particular, considering it was a bi-weekly occurrence with her that him and Jet had alternated responsibilities for—but the only difference from that violet-haired minx and, say, a certain hay-colour haired, golden eyed femme was that the former left clues that she _wanted_ to be found. Couldn't say the same for Julia.

A twinge of guilt spurned Spike to conduct a series of gestures; first, an aggravated scowl that creased his brow, followed by a sudden backward slope of his head likely to give him some form of whiplash, the motion allowing the base of his skull to rest on the back of the couch with a defiant _thud_. In a single swipe he folded his arms over his chest, pressing them hard against his ribs and the pulse that his ire had riled up. His throat bared to the ceiling, Spike watched as the fan spun languidly overhead and his eyes glossed over with the gleam of guilt for having compared the two women so brazenly. It was obvious enough they were nothing alike, born from completely different worlds (Faye's quite literally, if her past was to be believed) and he had mercilessly chided Faye previously for trying to bridge the massive gap between them. He wasn't about to let himself get away with it, either. How careless of him to suggest such a thing…

Spike exhaled, forcing his frustration and anxiety out of his awkwardly positioned body with a sigh that seemed heavy and final, as if a decision were already made within his mind. He couldn't bring himself to harp on memories of Julia right now; maybe later… at a bar or on an aimless stroll through side-streets and alleys, slinking out of the haloes of streetlamps that created a bold juxtaposition with the ebony tints of his thoughts. That would have to wait until he found Faye. It was his turn after all; Jet had retrieved her the last time and no doubt if Spike made some vocal confirmation of his presence Jet would remind him of that.

A part of him was grateful to be allowed the excuse to distance himself from the Bebop's gloomy ambiance. It was a strange lull that he wasn't used to, a lull that settled in whenever any member of the crew was mislaid by some unspoken whim of their own, or in Faye's case a test of the others' attachment to her. And in case that bind wasn't as sturdy as she hoped it to be, she swiped some cash to assure that she'd be followed. Honestly, did she think they _hadn't_ figured that out after the third time?

Not wanting to move into that branch of contemplation just yet, Spike jarred himself from the path his thoughts were straying into by another set of hastened motions, rising to his feet and quickly strolling over to the room where Jet's bonsai trees were kept. Not waiting until he had the older man's attention Spike blurted out, "I'm goin' to get her."

The shears Jet was holding in his hand flinched and hesitated, rustling the minute leaves just enough to pluck a few off, yet he barely noticed. With a cigarette dangling dangerously from his bottom lip, fastened there by moisture, he watched Spike wordlessly for a minute as he tried to figure out his partner's emotional state. As always, Spike's motives remained veiled behind a series of opaque cloths that seemed never-ending; just when you thought you found the core there was another layer of obscure emotions and intentions to sift through. That kind of unpredictability unnerved Jet, it was the kind of quirk he couldn't stand in Faye yet had come to accept as far as Spike was concerned. Interesting how one lets certain things slide, no? Straightening his posture from a slouch to rigid attention, Jet closed his eyes and pulled the shears away from the bonsai lest further damage be inflicted. "Did she take something of yours?" His eyelids ascended and caught Spike's quizzical expression and questioning stare, holding it in place. "I'm only asking 'cause it's not like you to volunteer for this sort of thing."

Spike snorted and leaned into the doorway, resting his shoulder against the frame. As far as he could remember Faye hadn't taken anything _specific_ that belonged to him, apart from an extra pack of Pall Mall's and his Zippo lighter he foolishly left out in the open; nothing that would be sourly missed. Realising that Jet intended to catch him off guard and hopefully find a glimpse into Spike's aims he intercepted the barb with one of his own. "I thought you'd _want_ her back. _You're_ the one that needs the company." As soon as the words found open air Spike knew they were far harsher than he intended them to be, but his previous musings coupled with the hints that he imagined Jet's statement to hold proved to be his undoing.

Jet flinched and narrowed his eyes into a stony glare, pursing his lips into a disapproving scowl that told Spike he had jested at too fresh a wound. "Just bring her back soon or I'm leaving the _both of you_ behind." And with that he returned his focus to his bonsai, angrily snipping at random branches and casting them onto the floor with the back of his hand. As Spike stepped out of the doorway he was almost sure he heard the man grumble under his breath, "Just excess baggage, anyway."

He sniggered quietly and shook his head, turning his back on Jet and making his way towards the compartment where his ship was held. He knew it was out of line to mock the older man's requirement for comrades, but it had been almost instinctual for him to shove Jet's prodding queries as far from him as was possible. Couldn't he just do this one thing as a favor, was _that_ so hard for Jet to understand? Why did everything always have to have some ulterior motive to it? Was it _that_ far of a stretch that Spike would commit an act of kindness?

"Maybe you're overreacting a little bit," he whispered to himself as he climbed the small set of stairs leading to the Swordfish. Removing his fingerless gloves from the recesses of his back pocket, Spike hoisted himself up the side of the ship and vaulted inside. Staring at the control panel he stretched either glove over his hands and hummed to himself, summoning up the memory of Faye's farewell message from the back of his mind.

_"Don't come get me… blah blah blah… easier if we never see each other again… blah blah… place where I belong…"_ Well, that end bit was different. It was a more personal confession than Faye had previously revealed to them in these notes, and considering that Jet regarded the other bounty hunters to be members of a makeshift family, it wasn't ridiculous to assume that that was the cause of Jet's recent irritability. …Well, that and the fact that Spike had just taunted him, of course. Faye saying she wanted a place to belong most likely injured Jet on a hidden level, making all his efforts to accommodate the Bebop to their individual liking all for naught.

Spike scowled and met his transparent reflection in the glass slightly above him. This sensitivity streak he was running on had lingered long past its welcome, introducing Spike to alcoves of emotions that he'd be more that happy to leave to rot. He hadn't felt like this in a long time… sure it flared up now and then much to his annoyance, but the last time it came on this strong and held him for more than a fleeting ten minutes was years ago. Julia had been its catalyst and how strange that Faye should be the one to give temporary life to those atrophied niches. Nevertheless he willed himself to focus on the little things, delaying the need to submerge himself in such ponderings until it was unavoidable. He had gone this long without it, so paralysing it for another hour or so should be no titanic feat.

… Right?

_Though I have a broken heart  
I'm too busy to be heartbroken  
There's a lot of things that need to be done  
Lord I have a broken heart…_

The bar was cloaked in insipid lighting, the bulbs dulled to a barely lit gleam to not upset the more "high spirited" patrons that were swaying off their barstools and high-backed chairs and conversing belligerently with the darkness around them. Faye felt right at home here, listening half-heartedly to the slurred confessions that the _Les Aveux du Coeur_'s populace whispered as if those they longed to reveal these words to were present in the haze of smoke and neon; the bar was the kind of place she felt at ease with which was more than she could say about the other taverns. While those were sleazy, rundown shacks filled to the brim with men that eye-humped her without hesitation this one seemed more up her alley with the tear-stained, world-weary visages that loomed out of the shadows like ghosts in the night. Sometimes one story would usurp the other until they all bled into the same background noise that punctured holes her thoughts, leaving her in a prolonged state of absent stares and mechanised gestures (bringing the cigarette to her lips, inhaling slowly, holding the smoke in 'til it burned and finally releasing it from her nostrils, or taking a sip of her Blue Ruin, swirling the ice and watching the light catch on the melting cubes). This kind of melancholy was quite unlike her normal easy come, easy go attitude (at least _she_ perceived herself to be that easygoing) and it unnerved Faye deeply to feel this wrong, this… _upset_ about so many things all at once. When the weight of this mood had grown too much for her to bear she took off, her recently required memories giving her the courage she didn't know she had—but it was to no avail. What's the point of remembering who she was if the life was so far out of her reach, if everyone involved in that life was dead or nearing it? Faye shuddered even though _Les Aveux de Coeur_ wasn't the least bit chilly and hunched up her shoulders, tensing the muscles of her back as if to prepare herself for a fight. She thought that everything would fall into place when she got her memories back, that all those missing pieces would somehow complete the riddle she had been fumbling over for the past three years, and it would be an understatement to say that she was disappointed by how they had let her down. The memories didn't solve a thing, they didn't bring anything into focus, just made the present that much more blurry. And as for the future… that was indistinct, a feeble hope that she didn't dare let herself indulge in.

Faye's eyebrows knitted together as the edges of her mouth twitched in memory of a brief conversation she and Spike had had weeks ago. She had admitted to him how important it was for her to remember her past and when he didn't quite get the feel of it she quickly responded with, _"At least you _have_ a past,"_ thinking that would be enough to drive the nail home and get him to see things her way.

Spike, of course, had dodged that intent entirely and shot back, _"And _you_ have a future."_ The response had been so vague Faye wasn't sure if he was joking or if she should consider this to be one of his rare moments of intimate thought. She had stared at him in obvious surprise, taken aback by his words and unsure of how to continue the conversation from there, but there was no need. Spike had proved that any chances of discussing the matter further were futile with a simple turn of his body, shutting Faye out with the impermeable fortress his back so often transfigured into. His words had been gnawing at her brain ever since, so tempted was she to just _ask_ Spike flat out what he meant while another part of her shrunk back in fear of what his reaction might be. None of the men on the Bebop seemed too willing to discuss matters of the heart openly, a truth she had learned the hard way by skirting the line many times with Spike and Jet. Occasionally she would test her limits, seeing how far she could take it before they really lost their tempers and snapped at her to mind her own business or keep her mouth shut, but other than that she stayed as far from their pasts as she could get.

She envied how they could just take all that for granted… the knowledge of what they'd experienced and seen meant nothing to them, they could just throw it away as easily as Faye chocked up her bounty at a casino; or, at least, _she_ thought so. Giving it deeper thought, spurned by a speedy gulp of the last of her Blue Ruin and letting the alcohol slowly flood down her throat and into her stomach, Faye realised that in a way all of them were stuck on the past. Jet hadn't bothered to get a different arm after the set up by Fad years ago, opting instead for that creepy arm that made Faye think of a mannequin on steroids in order to remind himself of the betrayal that had twisted his life around forever. And what about that watch Alisa had given him? He held onto it all this time, finally relinquishing his hold on it after that encounter with her on Ganymede that Faye was smart enough not to ask too much about. And Spike was stuck in the past, too, chasing after that Julia woman, running off whenever the name was hinted at and verbally slapping anyone in the face who tried to talk him out of his quest. The woman's hold on Spike was extraordinary, it was like nothing she'd seen before… only in those tearjerker romance movies, which always ended in the worst tragedies imaginable for the lovers. Spike's reaction to her name was so unlike his responses to anything else that it made Faye maddeningly curious to find out more about the woman… but she knew better than to ask. Julia's memory was a cherished and sacred object that Spike wouldn't let out from the temple he kept her locked in, and Faye would be a brazen fool to try and pry open the doors. If _that_ wasn't living in the past then Faye didn't know what was…

So, she had been wrong. It wasn't that Jet and Spike chose to ignore their respective roots, they were living testaments to all that had happened and to all that turned them into the persons they were today; they had just learned to subdue it to prevent any interference or untoward reminiscences. And could Faye blame them? But knowing herself better than anyone else, she knew that even with her memories in tact she wasn't any happier nor was she complete. If nothing else, the memories had done the exact opposite of putting things together, they just made the gaps wider and the ties frayed, impossible to mend without a steady hand.

With a frustrated grunt Faye ground the remains of her cigarette in the crystalline ashtray and twisted, digging her nails in until the paper frayed and what tobacco remained spilled out onto her fingers. Without a thought she flicked the traces away and set down her empty glass with a quiet tap on the varnished wood, the ice clinking together like the beads of a rosary, reminding her of the confessions going on around her in clandestine pitches. With a wry smile that was painted with nostalgia and regret she thought of the question she had posed at Gren months back, surprised by her ability to talk so openly and freely with a man who reminded so strongly of… well, that's not important. _"I feel like I'm in a confession booth. You wouldn't happen to be a preacher by any chance?"_ She remembered those eyes, how blue they were, pure and unmarred by inner inhibitions or hidden intents. They were just so _kind_ that Faye couldn't help but get pulled in like a moth to a flame. Gren wasn't the only one to emit that same alluring magnetism, although she highly doubted who she was thinking about did so intentionally… most likely it was her mind looking too deeply into something that was as shallow as a puddle. The thought made her frown deeply and hang her head in defeat, releasing a defeated sigh as she prepared to rest her head in the crook of her arms and let the soft music and hush of conversation lull her into a lucid trance.

At least she would have been more than happy to do so if it weren't for the feeling of eyes at her back. Attention was no stranger to Faye Valentine, it wasn't like she left much to imagination with her skimpy yellow shorts and form-fitting sleeveless top that was haphazardly concealed by a red sweater tied around her biceps and over her breasts, but that didn't mean she was all right with it. Normally she wouldn't mind it one bit, just pass it off without a second thought and move on with her business, but in this personal and rather sensitive moment she couldn't bear the thought of having to deal with pathetic pick up lines that were as trite and tired as they were back in the 21st century. She would have prayed to any higher power if she thought it would help her, but she spared no quiet words to a would-be deity, opting instead to wait for the admirer to show himself so she could brush him off and get back to her moping.

Only problem was that the admirer was such a strong replica of the person who had ensnared her thoughts and trained them on every aspect of himself that Faye found it hard to distinguish a difference between the two. So sure she was that they were in fact one and the same that when he carefully slid onto the stool to her right and she turned her head to glance at him she sat up, rigid with astonishment.

"Spike—?" she started, the name fluttering off her lips as if it had been pressing urgently against them for hours, yearning to be released. With a faint blush she took a closer look at the man next to her and quietly corrected her mistake, noting the differences. The most obvious one being the hair—while it seemed to have the same texture and ruffled consistency Faye noted with a facial tic that it _wasn't_ dark green but a dull amber, and those mismatched eyes she had found haunting were not present in this man's face; in fact his eyes were a nice shade of gray, like the sea after a storm. His smile was half leering, the other half genuinely amused as if mulling silently over a joke that had just been told. Luckily he didn't heard Faye's verbal slight, or if he did he made no move to acknowledge it, and politely introduced himself.

"I'm Aubrey," He said and extended his hand, knuckles curved slightly and his veins prominent in the taut flesh, making the bulge of electric blue veins seem even more desperate and urgent.

Her mind going a mile a minute as she slipped her own hand into his and squeezed tightly, offering her own name as a reply, Faye noticed how that last bit could represent her present situation: sitting alone at a bar, blurting out the title of her heaviness as if she had wanted to purge it but couldn't find the means until this moment. Desperate and urgent... Faye suddenly realised how familiar she had grown to those emotions.

So when he asked her back to his hotel room twenty minutes and a significant amount of Blue Ruins later (a new record, yet Faye was hardly cynical enough to make note of it) she paused only once to consider her options. Looking into his eyes steadily, swaying a bit with her inebriation, she could have sworn that they looked different in this lighting, no longer grey but now a dark hazel that gave her a funny jolt in the pit of her stomach...

It was to these eyes that she said yes.

_Though I have a broken dream  
I'm too busy to be dreaming of you  
There's a lot of things that I gotta do  
Lord I have a broken dream_


	2. II

**Author's Note:** Just so you know, "prosthetics" means: The branch of medicine or surgery that deals with the production and application of artificial body parts. Spooky, isn't it? Also I'd like to give insane amounts of thanks for all you wonderful people who reviewed. You guys are too, too kind. I'll give a much bigger thanks for the epilogue (you guys have definitely earned it).

The district that Spike had wandered into was like the backdrop of some 20th century noir movie; all that was missing was the obligatory maudlin saxophone and a grimacing, world-weary sleuth out for a meditative stroll and the allusion would be complete. Come to think of it, the latter was present. With a scowl that wrecked his vacant complexion Spike immediately fished a cigarette out from the crumpled pack in his back pocket, pressing his hands to his lapel in search of a lighter. He hissed a curse and spat the cigarette onto the ground, watching it land in a puddle and disturb the onyx smear with tiny ripples, ripples that distorted his reflection when he peered down at it. Faye had swiped that when she ran off. Of course the whole thing could be a form of karma biting him in the ass considering that he had nicked it off a bounty some time ago, but despite the technicalities of how it came to be in his possession Spike had taken a shine to the silver bauble.

Finding Faye was proving to be more difficult than he previously imagined. From previous retrieval missions he and Jet had learned to scope out obvious places where she might be—a bar with some forlorn name, for instance, was in the lead on said list—and if that failed there was always the casinos and race tracks to sift through. There was something about this instance that made Spike doubt she'd blow whatever money she could scrounge on gambling or races; no, this was definitely in the forlorn bar territory. The second thing he had learned was to check out the nearest satellite or planet; Faye was no idiot, she had run out of gas before and didn't intend to repeat the mistake, besides it would just make her easier to be found. .. At least, if Spike fled as many times as she did he certainly wouldn't fly off to the most distant place in the Sol system. That would be too obvious. Hiding right underneath someone's nose was the safest bet: no one ever though to look for you so close by. It worked for him all these years… although as of late his luck seemed to have been running out. There were, after all, only so many places that he could hide from the Syndicate.

Gently he let his mind stray onto Julia again, knowing that his thoughts had been drifting in that direction since his mental exploration a little while ago. There were only so many places she could hide, too. … So why was it so hard to find her? If truth be told it wasn't as if he were looking high and low for her, at least not obvious enough to make notice of it to anyone but himself. Every now and again he'd find his eye roaming towards wavy blonde hair, or his ears pique at a wry, sultry voice that rose up from a crowd, but these were just parts of her, just fragments of the effigy that had vanished. No matter how he tried to assemble them they only made some laughable imitation of the woman he loved so long ago. And with that in mind he had given up, knowing there was no hope of trying to replace her or to try and find some remnant of her in another woman.

Spike grimaced and tightened the muscles of his back unconsciously, preparing for the steady creep of anesthesia to dull his senses and leave a familiar ache in his body, as if all the blood had rushed out of him and all that was left was prickling numbness. It was like losing a limb and still being able to feel it with you, still being aware of the pain that raced through it. That's what people who'd been amputated often said. It felt like it was still there… as if it hadn't left at all. Well, as gruesome as it was to compare the two, losing Julia had been a lot like being amputated. The incident was so swift that Spike immediately went into shock; the descent of the figurative blade had caused him no pain or agony, he had simply crashed to the floor and had yet to find the strength to lift himself up again. He could have sworn that she was still a part of him and that she still lingered on somewhere deep inside, untouched by the anesthetised mockery of emotions he now expressed, that she thrived and flourished and was as beautiful and pure as he remembered her. It didn't take long to realise how untrue that was. She was gone, the emotions were gone, and in her place was this eye-sore of a man and his useless, shriveled heart. Muscles atrophy if they're shunned for long periods of time and Spike had no doubt that his heart had likewise suffered from neglect.

And yet even with the knowledge that she wasn't likely to show up anytime soon, even with the dulled emotions and sensations, even with his hands vainly groping for the one that had cast him aside years ago, Spike couldn't get rid of her just yet. He accepted it, but he just wasn't ready to adapt to it. After a while you accept that an arm or a leg is gone, but that doesn't mean you're ready to get used to life without either one. Life without Julia seemed truly ironic. How could he live without the person who gave him life, who taught him what life was? If Spike could laugh he would have, but all that rose up out of him was a sob. He didn't even bother to stifle it or try and disguise it as a cough or a sneeze this time, he simply let the horrible, choking wail burst out of him and instantly dissolved into a deluge he'd kept dammed up ever since she'd left him alone in the graveyard. Spike stopped walking and hunched over with the force of his distress, wrapping his arms around himself to try and hold some semblance of composure.

It was raining that day… the rain was freezing, like icicles melting over my skin and sinking in, and she left me there, left me with the rest of the corpses to rot. That day in the graveyard is still inside me, no matter how hard I try I can't bring myself to leave; my body hasn't thawed enough for me to move on. I'm stuck in the world of the dead and she left me there, she doesn't care, and I can't never leave no matter what I do…

He forced the tears away, shoving at his grief and pain as if it were something physical he could suppress and pushed it beneath the layers of paralysed emotion. Never before had he tried to let out even a fraction of the tears and cries that echoed like a tune playing on loop, rebounding off of his insides and rattling his bones in their place, adding to the eerie keen of his sorrow, and after what had just happened he didn't intend to release them anytime soon. Spike forced himself to breathe, because breathing was the easiest thing to do right now, and waited for his heart to stop pounding, for his pulse to quiet to a hush and for his hands to quit shaking as if they were a leaf in the wind before he began to move forward down the musty, foggy street. Finding Faye was all he needed to focus on right now… Just find Faye and this will all be over with. Spike repeated it to himself like a mantra, his eyes staring intently at the splotches of water that lay at his feet like the stains of Providence's tears, until the words became a blur to him. Just find Faye because she wants to be found. Just find Faye because what kind of person would you be to leave her behind, to leave anyone behind? Just find Faye because she's the only thing that can come back, that will come back. Whether or not he was willing to admit it, Spike knew that the last part was true. He had grown used to Faye's disappearances, but even more used to her coming back. Like a prosthetic of some sort Faye had filled in the Julia-shaped void, had even taken the liberty to vanishing every now and then just to keep Spike on his toes and remind him of her predecessor. He wasn't sure when the transition had been made, wasn't sure when he stopped thinking of her as some bitchy tramp with a penchant for chain-smoking and started to consider her a remedy for the wound Julia had inflicted, and the surprise was so great it stopped him in his tracks.

He didn't hate her, and he never had. He wasn't even mad at her for running off… so what did he feel? Again his hands were groping blindly into the dark, trying to find the emotion that would sate his query, only to find it slide through his fingers and disappear into a haze of uncertainty. Spike continued to search for the feeling as he made a beeline for a bar that rose up from the mist, its neon pink lights drawing him involuntary forward. "_Les Aveux du Coeur_," He whispered under his breath and flattened his hand against the door, pushing it open enough to allow himself to slide in. He shifted his gaze from side to side, apparently satisfied with his location by show of a pleased smirk. "Just the place she'd hang out." The search for Faye continued.

And a good forty-five minutes later that search lead him to this derelict of a hotel that was just aching to have the grime and filth hosed off of it._ Or better ye_t burned _off_, Spike remarked silently, his nose wrinkling in disapproval as he beheld the two story sleaze-abode that he'd been told Faye had wandered into. Interestingly enough to add was that she hadn't been alone, if the bartender was to be believed, but Spike wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort him. Any man that would take a woman to a place like this couldn't possibly be an upstanding citizen. There were of course dozens of possibilities to take into consideration, but Spike was far too inebriated and scatterbrained to attempt to do so at the moment. So instead he amused himself with the idea of torching the slum to the ground. Letting a good fifteen minutes pass as he searched himself through for his Zippo, Spike muttered under his breath and swayed on his feet as the first wave of nausea passed over him like a chill. He had only meant to stop in for a few minutes, maybe for a drink or two, but there was something oddly comforting about _Les Aveux du Coeur's_ atmosphere that drew him in and made him stay… it was probably just the lingering effect of reminiscing about Julia, or that he finally had succumbed to the sappy bastard that lurked inside him, either way Spike had had more drinks than he intended to and as a result had turned himself into a stumbling fool. Albeit an amusing one.

Spike groaned and pushed his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes to try and make the world stop spinning like a top. "Unnh, th'hell was I thinkin'…?" He stumbled over to a bench positioned under a streetlamp and collapsed into it, his back curved to protect his eyes from the merciless neon glare. Soon this'll all be just another hangover… He kept his hand to his face even after the sensation of spinning around in circles had passed, kept his eyes closed to the night and to the reasons for him having ventured out this late, kept his eyes closed to the images of Julia and Faye that threatened to envelope him as soon as he faced reality. Just for a few more fleeting minutes Spike would rather face the darkness on the nether side of his eyelids than the light of the world.

He'd have to figure out a way to see her, to get back whatever money that remained (and his Zippo as well) from what she had swiped, and persuade her into joining them again. In the earlier stages of her disappearances he'd have to shove a gun to her head or threaten her in some other way before she would comply, but over time Faye had become less resistant, even accepting whenever Jet or Spike came to collect her. She'd dutifully return to her room on the Bebop without another word, and as the days passed she'd eventually turn into her old self again, making wily comments and strutting languidly through the ship as if nothing ever happened. Spike wracked his mind for a cause behind her change in character, wondering just what it was that managed to break through her icy exterior and puncture the heart within, but came up empty handed. She was a difficult puzzle to put together and not necessarily a pleasant person to hang around long enough to try and unravel. Spike wondered just how much of her personality was an act and how much was real. And really, who was he to point blaming fingers? It wasn't as if he was totally honest with the rest of them either. Everyone on the ship had something to hide, some part of them they'd like nothing more than to forget about or some wound that they kept sheltered underneath cool, composed exteriors (or in Faye's case, rambunctious, bitchy ones)--well, everyone except Ein and Ed. _But did they count anymore?_ They had run off right after Ed found her father...

Spike flinched and lowered his hand, dropping it onto his lap where it rested awkwardly, as if he had forgotten what he intended to do or where he wanted to place himself. He slowly opened his eyes, but as he did he didn't see the puddles or the cracked concrete, instead he saw Faye's face as she bumped into him that night on the ship. Her eyes were wild and misty, her expression as lost as a child in a strange world. She looked like she was about to burst into tears, or worse, fall apart at the seams, as if the thread that had kept her together had been unlaced and she was doing her best not to fall to pieces on the floor in front of him. What was even more disconcerting about that encounter was that she had apologised. The way in which she said it stuck out in Spike's mind, how soft her voice was, how... _sincere_. No more was she the Faye of past days, something had changed her drastically. But what? Could it have been that video they found? Spike couldn't help but smile at that memory, remembering what Faye looked like as a child, how she was so radically different from the venomous young woman he knew today. Not once since they had seen that tape had any of them brought it up, it was almost like the elephant in the living room that nobody wanted to mention, but Spike could tell that it had shook Faye deeply. After all, she had claimed to not be able to remember anything about her past, that she couldn't tell who she was or where she came from, and having such pure evidence of the life she couldn't remember must have been a nasty shock. It was probably akin to a slap in the face from a sledgehammer.

_But to behave so recklessly...?__ Wandering off with guys she meets in bars?_ Spike wasn't sure if that behaviour was excusable. Who did she think she was? The world was still a scary place, and now that corruption had seeped itself into the entire Sol system; did she really think she'd be safe out there? Idly he reminded himself of Jet, always worrying about the others and fussing around like a parent. He should have been the one making such a big deal about Faye's safety, not Spike. And yet the roles seemed to have reversed somewhere along the way without Spike being any the wiser.

Spike grunted as he rose to his feet, sucking in air through his clenched teeth as he tried to stabilise himself against the screaming headache that pounded against his temples, his pulse racing with the pain. Sitting outside all night didn't seem like too smart of a thing to do, not in his current condition. He couldn't afford to pass out and get mugged by some street urchin; it's not like he had much money to spare a mugger anyway. He'd almost wasted it all on drinks back at the bar. Thinking back to how much woolongs remained in his pocket, Spike shuffled across the street and towards the motel, not bothering to look for any oncoming cars. Wind picked up as he walked across the parking lot, tossing his scruffy dark olive hair around his clammy forehead and erasing any traces of sweat that lingered on his skin. He opened up the cracked glass door and stepped inside, quickly walking over to the counter and leaning against it for support. Hopefully he had just enough for a room, and hopefully it wasn't close enough to Faye's to overhear any activities that could be happening within.

One thing that Spike knew would cure his ails and not leave him whirling in the morning was sleep, healthy, natural, soothing sleep. Hopefully his thoughts would give him a break.

_And I'm wasted all the time  
__I've gotta drink you right off of my mind  
__I've been told that this will heal given time  
__Lord I have a broken heart_

Spike's sleep was heavy and undisturbed, a heaven-send compared to his dreams as of late. If he had to endure another night of watching Julia and Faye bleed together into some bizarre, misshapen hybrid of a woman he didn't doubt that he would go crazy. When he awoke sprawled out on the bed he hadn't bothered to turn down, opting instead to just fall asleep on the covers, his head was surprisingly free of pain. Grumbling incoherently Spike rolled off the bed and placed his feet on the ground, holding his head upright with his hand just in case the hangover decided to strike when least expected. Sun shone bleakly through the blinds and cast scattered rays across the floor, bed and the table positioned under the window, jarring Spike from any lingering exhaustion and reminding him of his purpose for having stayed overnight in a dump like this.

"Faye," He groaned half-heartedly, hanging his head and exhaling deeply, lowering his shoulders into a slump. After a moment of silence in which he attempted to restrain his frustration, Spike glanced over at the bedside clock. Much to his relief the day had barely broken and any chance of him having missed Faye were slim to none. No one in their right mind got up before noon after a night of heavy drinking.

_No one except yours truly._ With a slight smile Spike pushed himself to his feet and stretched, tensing the muscles that had relaxed into a stupor from his ponderings the night before. Luckily he wasn't after a bounty, or the stiff, unrelenting limbs he had woken up with might have caused a bit of a problem. Spike paused and flexed his hand, curling his fingers towards his palm and then stretching them outward, as far as they could go. Seems he was still numb. Spike continued to stare fixatedly at that hand for a few minutes, lost in thoughts of the past and present, amazed at how they all mixed together and became one massive, indiscernible cause of emotional paralysis that locked his body into place. Why was this happening to him? Why now, why all of a sudden all this discomfort, all this... sorrow? A sliver of pain flared up unexpectedly, starting at his right shoulder and curling down his bicep and along the muscle of his forearm, making it rather difficult to move. Spike grimaced and tried to ignore it, not wanting yet another thing to impede him on what should have been an in and out procedure, quick and without much delay. He grasped the doorknob and twisted it swiftly, letting himself out into the fresh air that was a nice reprieve from the stagnant, arid atmosphere that lingered within his room.

Unbeknownst to him at the same time Aubrey was doing his best to quietly leave the room that he and Faye had shared the night prior, gently letting the door click shut before making his way towards the stairs, not even bothering to look back and see if Faye was tailing after him. The man caught Spike's attention as soon as he came into view, and he continued to hold his focus for as long as Spike could see him. His hair was tussled and uneven, most likely from an unfit night's rest (Spike winced at the thought and did his best not to stray into that territory as long as he could help it) and his attire was fairly casual: a black suit that latched across the chest with the two top buttons left open to reveal a deep crimson shirt and black tie. Oddly enough he seemed familiar...

Burying his hands into his pockets and smirking with a mixture of amusement and smarmy mischief, Spike spoke aloud to himself. "So _that's_ the kind of guy she goes after," He chuckled despite the hour of morning and his humor being dry and scarce. He wasn't in a mood for jokes, he just wanted to get this over with and go back home so he could get a proper night's sleep already. As he passed by the room he'd seen Aubrey exit Spike took a mental note of the number, hoping that he could somehow swipe the key from the lobby without the clerk being any wiser. _312... easy enough._

When he got to the lobby he was slightly dismayed to find the clerk up right and centre, blocking Spike's chances from getting any closer to the keys. The frumpy, pale young man faked a smile at Spike and lowered the magazine he was reading onto the countertop, raising his eyebrows in a manner of urging Spike to speak.

Spike scratched the back of his head and thought quickly, letting his mouth run off with whatever his mind could come up with. "Hey, I know this sounds a little odd but--"

The clerk held up a hand and shook his head. "Wait, don't tell me. Lemme guess."

"Er, all right." Spike blinked, slightly happy for the chance to have an excuse made up for him.

"You left something back in your room, didn't you?" The clerk concluded, lowering his hand and turning to face the niches that contained each room's key. He plucked 312 from its cubby and dangled it in front of Spike, his smile widening into an expression of understanding. "Happens all the time, mate. It's not as odd as you may think."

Spike blinked again and couldn't resist the urge to grin broadly, delighted that the young man had made this so much easier for him. "Yeah... thanks," Spike said and swiped the keys into his palm, offering the clerk one more smile and a slight wave before he about faced and walked out of the lobby. He stared at the keys in his hand with a look of pure confusion, amazed at how simple that had been.

An engine flared to life somewhere in the parking lot and Spike lifted his gaze to see Aubrey peel out and speed off into the distance, making such a racket that Spike would be surprised if Faye managed to sleep through it. Forget Faye... he would be amazed if the entire _district_ didn't hear that. Spike scowled and tightened his hands around the keys unconsciously, wringing the life out of the slender brass bauble. Just what the hell was wrong with a woman who'd waste her time on men like that? He just didn't understand her. _Why the hell did she put herself through all this? She should know better... and she definitely shouldn't expect sympathy for the problems she got herself wound up into._ Maybe Jet was right... women _don't_ work on reason. Spike ascended the stairs and brought himself to Room 312, pausing in front of the door before he worked up the nerve to unlock it. He felt strange, as if he were intruding upon some uncharted territory, or crossing over a path that he'd done his best to avoiding straying over for so long that the thrill of finally walking on it was blasphemous. Spike shook off this nonsense and inserted the key, making sure to avoid any abrupt noises in case she was still asleep.

The sunlight hit Faye's unconscious form and yet she did not stir, her face remained fixed on the placid, idle expression that it had settled on when she had fallen asleep. Her lilac hair was splayed across her face, covering her eyes and framing her cheeks while the rest lay on the pillow in a bizarre halo that circled her face. The lipstick that was her trademark was smeared as if it had worn off and from a quick glance down at the hand that lay across her stomach Spike could tell she had rubbed the back of her hand against her lips: a crimson streak ran over her knuckles and index finger. She seemed preserved, frozen in time and unable to respond to anything that happened around her, and it was this unresponsiveness that Spike took advantage of as he walked into the room and shut the door. His heart clenched as Faye stirred slightly, the muscles in her face tensing as her brow creased and she shifted her position, lying on her left side to unknowingly face Spike.

Letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding inside, Spike moved quietly over to a seat that was drawn from the table by the window, his foot brushing against an article of clothing that lay discarded on the floor. With a neutral gaze he glimpsed at it, only vaguely interested in the fact that he had just mildly punted Faye's brassiere, and before he could exert control over his curiosity his eyes fluttered back to Faye's sleeping form. The sheet that lay twisted around her petite body was, miraculously, covering up more than Faye's normal clothing ever could. And yet for some reason this made her seem even more scandalous.

He lowered himself onto the seat and sighed, slumping to alleviate the pressure that was building up at the top of his spine and to shrug off some of the pain in his shoulder. Absent-mindedly he flexed his right hand again, digging his nails into his skin until crescents were impressed on the surface and then released them, staring at the grooves that were embedded into his palm.

_"I can read palms, you know." Julia teased mildly, her voice as thick as honey. She could be asking the most mundane question and it would still feel like she was telling you how much she loved you, the sultry and alluring tone was present no matter what the topic. She lifted her head from where it rested on Spike's chest and sat up straight on the mattress. Gently she took Spike's hand in both of hers and turned it over so she could scrutinise his palm, her hazel eyes intently gazing upon each wrinkle and crease._

_ He tried to stay as still as he was able, but the thrill of contact proved to be the stronger of the two. He just couldn't understand how soft and flawless someone's skin could be, how any and all imperfections were cast off with a grace unknown to any other women besides this living, breathing goddess he had been lucky enough to uncover. To have her touch him, to have her stand to put a single finger on him, made it seem as if he wasn't as deplorable and hopeless as he had often led himself to believe. To have a mortal love a goddess--well, that was just brazen arrogance on the mortal's part. But for the goddess to love him in return? It was as if __Providence__ had opened up and bestowed Spike with the fairer embodiment of the Golden Fleece of myth._

_ Spike couldn't help himself. He lifted his free hand and tentatively pressed it against Julia's flaxen mane, testing her reaction before he sifted his fingers through it, not wanting to tarnish her ethereal image with some unforeseen blemish tattooed on his skin. Julia only smiled at the touch and tilted her head into his wandering fingers like a cat that's pleased with the attention it's being lavished, but her eyes remained fixed on Spike's palm._

_ A flicker of uncertainty passed over her face for a brief instant, but Spike was keen enough to catch it. He smirked and spoke quietly, afraid if he talked any louder he would upset some delicate balance. "What did you see?"_

_ "Nothing..." She said unconvincingly, shaking her head slightly. "It's just that... your life line stops about an inch before it's supposed to." She placed a slender finger on the centre of Spike's palm and tapped it lightly. "Normally it's not like that."_

_ Spike shrugged and continued to run his fingers through her hair, transfixed by her beauty. "So what does that mean?"_

_ Julia lifted her eyes slowly, her expression stern but still so beautiful. "That you're going to have a short life."_

_ It's not _too_ farfetched_, Spike thought as he clenched his hand one more time before banishing the memory into the trenches of his mind.

He turned his eyes onto Faye again, watching silently as her face rippled with emotion and her bottom lip quivered and then parted to release a frightened whimper. Her body shivered once and she writhed languidly under the covers, unaware of how sensual her mannerisms were even in her unconscious state. Before he saw more than he wanted to, Spike withdrew the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and freed one, keeping his eyes on the floor in hopes of stumbling across his beloved Zippo. Placing the cigarette between his lips, Spike leaned forward and extended his hand to Faye's red jacket that lay curled in a ball near the nightstand. His fingers halted an inch above the fabric.

"You smoke when you really want to cry,"

Spike bristled and turned to meet Faye's tired, heavy eyes, his heart tensed in anticipation of some catty remark or a derisive smirk that seemed to be her default trait. He kept his lips clamped shut lest he waste yet another cigarette and waited anxiously for her to continue. Maybe she was talking in her sleep? Julia had done that from time to time, during periods of extreme stress. It had been slightly unnerving for Spike to watch her move around, eyes open yet unfeeling, unseeing, and to have her speak with such a dull, flat voice that made her normal tone seem nothing more than a fleeting dream.

Unfortunately Faye was as wide awake she one could be in her condition, and she held Spike's gaze with a force that gave him a slight chill. It wasn't merciless or cruel, just reserved; the kind of gaze someone has when they're willing to accept their own death.

"What was that?" Spike asked, because it was the only thing he could think to say to try and regain the upper hand in this situation. Faye had caught him off guard, which was a rather risky way to start things off.

Faye sighed and stretched her arms over her head, the sheet just barely covering her expansive chest. She didn't seem to notice, however. "Whenever you smoke a cigarette, you really feel like crying." She said and lowered her arms to the bed again, closing her eyes briefly before she turned on her side to face Spike, propping herself up with one arm bent under her head. "It's funny. I didn't quite peg you as a smoker, Aubrey."

Spike frowned and waited until Faye opened her eyes again so she could see who she was _really _addressing. After the shock had crept over her face and her cheeks coloured to a pale red, after her expression twisted itself into a cross between embarrassment and rage he spoke up before she could begin ranting at him in some banshee-pitched shriek. "Mind telling me where my Zippo is, Faye?" He asked with a playful grin.

_And I'm crying all the time  
__I have to keep it covered up with a smile  
__And I'll keep on moving on for a while  
__Lord I have a broken heart_

Faye hesitated for a few moments and shot him one more look of pure contempt before she leaned over the side of the bed and reached for her scarlet jacket. "Yeah, it's in here..." She trailed off, her muscles clenching as she realised that the only thing she had to cover herself with had slipped down enough to give Spike quite the eyeful. Faye stayed the hand that reflexively wanted to yank the sheet back up and conceal her exposed self, deciding that it would be better to try and win the upper hand. Spike could smarm his way through the entire conversation if he wanted to, but as long as she started things off by making him as uncomfortable as possible there was no way he could consider it a flawless victory. Not if Faye had anything to say about it. Out of the corner of her eyes and with a impish smirk Faye watched as a tinge of rouge grew over Spike's cheeks at the sight of her unabashedly exposed breasts and as he quickly averted his eyes down to the jacket she was reaching for. With a steady jerk Spike snatched the coat up and began to sift through it, shaking it every now and then to detect the source of his prized Zippo.

Meanwhile Faye reclined on the bed and yawned quietly, letting the sheet stay where it was tied around her hips and twisted around her slender legs, but she made no move to alleviate the discomfort she was certain that Spike must be feeling. She watched him paw through the pockets of her jacket for a few moments before he snatched his prize victoriously from the breast pouch, and she did her best to stifle a smart ass comment as she realised _how_ much attention he was paying to that measly lighter.

But Faye couldn't help herself; it was far too good of an opportunity to pass up. She chuckled and shook her head at him, her tone light and full of mock charm that normally sparked a wildfire of smart-assed banters between herself and this lunkhead who was too embarrassed to meet her eyes. "Come on, Spike, you're acting like you've never seen breasts before."

Spike scowled and retreated back to his seat, flicking open the Zippo with his thumb and igniting the tip of his cigarette. To Faye's surprise his eyes pinned hers in place as he exhaled deeply, a stream of smoke creating a haze between them that was thick enough to obscure her vision of him, the only noticeable feature being that of his eyes that bore so intently into her that it made her want to curl up and disappear into nothing. There was something strangely alluring about his eyes, and that something set off a flare that raced through Faye's abdomen and down towards her groin, rekindling the passion she had exerted uselessly on Aubrey hours prior.

The silence in the room was broken by Spike's throaty growl that curled out of his lips and into the smoky air of the room. Faye shivered when she heard it. "Don't flatter yourself too much, Faye, or your head might swell up bigger than your tits."

Faye groaned and threw herself back onto the bed, throwing her arm over her eyes and gritting her teeth. "Just what the hell are you doing here, anyway?" She spat in a half-hearted attempt to sound angry, but all the emotion was draining out of her save the numbing, steady creepy of sorrow. She didn't dare to let Spike see her in that state, it would give him too great of a lead that it would make it impossible for her to catch up.

"You can't keep running off like this, you know. One of these days Jet and I just won't bother going after you. It's way too much of an inconvience." Spike's voice remained steady as he took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes never wavering.

"So you came here to bring me back, is that it?" Faye muttered, her hand fidgeting nervously with the sheet as she debated how obvious her humiliation would be if she were to cover herself now.

"Something like that, yeah."

Silence again. Spike inhaling smoke and casting it out into the air so that it created a fog Faye couldn't permeate no matter how hard she squinted, Faye trying her best to remain as veiled as he despite the lack of a smoke screen. Only after the makeshift fog began to wane did Spike speak up again, his tone mild and truthfully curious.

"Why do you do it, Faye?"

"Do what?" She knew what, she just wanted to give herself time to think of a better response than the truth.

"You know what."

Faye groaned again and bit her lip, twirling her fingers around the sheet and then pulling it free, anxious for a loophole that could get her out of this predicament. She couldn't be honest with him, he'd never believe her or he wouldn't let her live it down. Being honest was giving him more ammunition to pepper her with later, and Faye just couldn't risk having that happen. She set her face into an unyielding mask and tightened her jaw, resorting back into the slightly mocking, slightly grumpy inflection she adapted whenever talking about something particularly irritating. "I'm just bored, is all. Can you blame a girl? I mean life's so dull on that piece of trash and now that Ed's gone where's the fun in hanging around anymore?" She opened her eyes into slits and peered over at Spike through the smoke. A smirk was splashed over his lips, but unlike his previous ones this one was free of malice or spite.

"You're lying," he said evenly, smoke curling out from his lips as he spoke.

A low growl unraveled from her throat as Faye jerked upright and glared daggers at him, even further enraged at the expression on his face. "What the hell do you know, Spike?!"

"A lot more than you give me credit for," He countered and shrugged, obviously enjoying the full extent of power his words had over her.

Faye would have cried if she thought it would do any good, but she willed the tears into the back of her mind, forcing them down with a forceful thought. Can't tell the truth.. can't let him see me cry.. don't be weak now, Faye. "Like you're any better," She snarled, letting bits of the truth sift through her defences. "Running off like an idiot on some suicide mission, just waiting to get killed. You don't care about anyone but yourself. Someone could die from how much they'd worry about you."

"Ditto."

"What?" Faye blanched and stared incredulously at Spike, her eyes unguarded for in a brief moment of surprise. There's no way that meant what she thought it did.

"Faye, just how do you think it makes us feel to have you take off whenever things get too comfortable for you? How do you expect anyone to bother with you if you make a run for it everytime you're scared of being left behind? That's how people get left behind, by ditching the people close to them." He took another long inhale from his cigarette and held it in, releasing it in one long stream that swirled around him like a spectre. "Don't expect those people to be waiting for you to come back, either. Sooner or later they'll just turn around and walk away." The manner in which he was speaking made Faye quell any desire to compete with him. He was being honest, totally and utterly Spike, and she assumed that his courage to do so came from the smoke screen he had so cleverly composed before launching into this heartfelt confession. But there was something else.. something in his voice that made her think she wasn't really who he was addressing. Someone from his past? An old flame?

"Julia," Faye whispered. Through the haze she saw Spike stiffen. As gently as she could Faye continued. "You're talking about Julia, aren't you?"

When he next spoke his voice was bitter and venomous, an obvious attempt to injure her deeply enough so that she wouldn't bother risking that topic again. "No, Faye, I'm talking about you,"

"But you mean Julia, don't you?" Faye thought back to the conversation she had had with Gren after interrupting him in the shower, how she had really longed to speak those words to Spike and not some azure-eyed, heartwrenching saxophone player that made her think of him. "So you just help someone selfishly... and then you go off to die." Those words had Spike branded all over it, although she doubted she'd have the courage to ever say them to his face. "Spike, I--"

"Shut up!" Spike growled and launched himself forward, discarding the cigarette and hurling himself towards Faye, clamping one hand over her mouth while the other made a fist that came to rest against the bed's headboard. Faye's body flattened in fear and sank against the mattress as Spike overpowered her, his eyes seething with fury at having his wound ripped open so easily and exposed to the air. Of all times.. of all people it had to fucking be Faye.

After a few moments Spike realised just how awkward of a position he had thrown himself into, laying half on top of Faye who's breasts were still exposed and pushing up against his chest in time with her rapid heartbeat, and how if he removed his hand from her lips how near his mouth would be to hers, and how her eyes looked, fear mixed in with sympathy that he didn't think she could ever be capable of without some ulterior motive. Spike thought back to the discussion he had last night and realised, with more relief than disgust, that what he felt for Faye was quite possibly the closest thing to love in all these years since Julia.

Slowly he peeled back his hand and set it down on the bed next to Faye's head, making sure not to catch any strands of hair so he didn't tug at her scalp. Keeping his eyes focused on her own, finding himself as hypnotised and transfixed to them as he had been with Julia, Spike brushed his lips against hers and sighed the slightest of bits.

With a gentleness that surprised him Faye returned the kiss, her eyes holding his in place and void of all fear.

"I'm sorry, Faye," he whispered, his lips grazing hers as he spoke, sending a familiar ripple of pleasure through him, pleasure that had been neglected for three years.

"I'm sorry too, Spike," She replied and attempted the smallest of smiles, her eyes glossing over with tears that couldn't quite bring themselves to shed, like a caterpillar too scared to emerge from the cocoon.

Moving as with one mind, Spike untwisted the sheet from around Faye's body just as she reached up and began to unbutton his jacket, her slender fingers slowly working at his attire.


End file.
